I have a friend which is a few years older (M, that would be you) than me that used to tell me that time was running out and that I better make the most of it. I shrugged it off and told him he was crazy since we're not even out of the first third of our lives. Of course now that's changed with me passing the thirtieth mark more than a year ago. We all know that time is supposed to be constant and unchanging, but I'm taking a different approach, time is quite subjective to me. The last few years have been blowing by at break neck speeds with me wondering where did it all go? (much to the chagrin of those close to me constantly asking "what the hell happened to the time?) I'm sure there were days interspersed in there where I had a few "longest day ev-ar" days but on the whole the seasons are changing faster than I can keep track of. I used to be quite aware of my circadium rhythm but now, it barely registers.

Which brings me back to my day-to-day. I used to have gobs of time, even during my 20s. I didn't crawl out of bed until 9am back then, leave work at 6pm and I'd still felt like I had so much free time to kill. Now, I don't think I do, which doesn't mean its a bad thing, but its just a drastic change from my youth. I could play hours upon hours of video games, and I wouldn't care that I wasted all that time. Now, I have that twitching feeling that I should be doing something productive, and although most would call that responsibility, I think I just know there are consequences if I don't pay the bills on time, make dinner, clean up the house, do adult chores and errands. Its because without the shelter of parents, I'm now working without a saftey net and I know that. I try my best to devote most of my free time to spending some quality time with my wife.

Which leads to Memorial Day weekend. MM wanted to paint the front of the house, and we set out doing it with the naivete of thinking it would be as simple as painting the living room walls (which also weren't as simple as they looked). First off, the front is made up of old concrete pressed bricks that have the same porous roughness as a thousand grit sandpaper which meant if you rolled paint roller over it or tried to brush it with a paint brush, only 30% of the surface was going to be coated.

I tried to counter that by grunting and forcefully pushing hard on the roller to the wall to squeegee the paint into the pores of the bricks. I did this for most of the morning and afternoon of Saturday with little success. After that I was wiped. I'm still recovering now. My chest felt like I was having a fat ballerina dance on top of it for the last few days and I've basically laid on the couch for most of the holiday weekend while my dedicated wife soldiered on outside by meticulously painting each brick. I guess getting back to the gym the last month wasn't enough prep for trying to tackle such a project.

I guess if you don't make time to just relax, your body is going to force you to do it whether you like it or not.

I'm not sure this all ties together somehow, then again, I'm not writing an essay I need to turn into the teacher either. So be it, summer starts, and the reality is that it won't make a difference to my schedule now, where as before, I'd be looking forward to months of endless time to kill at the pool, with my neighborhood/school friends, in front of the TV, or at a mindless summer job. Now, my life chugs on, and the summer of 2006 will be filled with lots of different memories that will be in my mind within a blink of an eye. My first year of marriage to an awesome person, home ownership, good times with good friends, and lots and lots of chores.